Drink Deep
by uncaringerinn
Summary: He is ravenous, and she is the sweet to sate his hunger. Dark.
1. Chapter 1

He watched her.

Her pretty white sundress floating about her knees; hair tangling down her back. She looked toward the sky; eyes bright and innocence bared.

She took cover in the shade of the lone oak tree; slim fingers ghosting over rough bark. She was perfect; so sweet it made his teeth ache and he wanted nothing more than to sink them deep into her flesh. His mouth watered.

He stepped forward; hands buried deep in his pockets, his last desperate attempt at control worn string thin. A smile curved at the corners of his lips; he called out to her, "You're a very pretty girl."

She turned round; eyes wary as her hands fisted in the hem of her dress, "Am I?"

He moved closer, licking his lips and grinning, "You're a very special girl, Wendy. Don't you know?" He could practically feel her pulse quicken; blood thickening. She was his salvation and damnation. He was going to take his fill of her and wring her dry; set her free.

"They don't -" She stammered and he watched as a pretty pink blush crawled from the hollow of her throat to the top of her cheeks, "Nobody sees me."

He didn't hesitate. He moved with purpose; circling her, "I see you. I've _always _seen you."

Her brown eyes widened and he sees the hope fill her, "Truly?"

She's too trusting to know better, but his lips curl up into a grin and he lets his fingers weave themselves into her hair, "I know you better than anyone ever will, darling Wendy." He leans forward ever so slightly, "I can take you to a place where everyone will notice you, where they will listen to what you say and hang on your every word."

"Please?" She whispers so sweetly and he feels the ache growing in his empty bones.

He knows what she wants; poor, dear, innocent girl, but he wants her to say it. _Beg for it._

"Please what, Wendy?"

"Take me there. I want to go with you." Her voice trembles because she wants it _so badly._

His hands leave her hair to grasp at her wrists, _so close_, "You'll have to give me something first." His head swims with the scent of her; fresh and clean, the smell of Spring.

"Anything. I'll give you anything."

He says nothing, but his lips spread wide as his tongue rolls over his teeth.

In his greed he sinks his poisoned hooks deep into her and takes everything she has. And when he is done her perfect white dress is ruined; soiled with dirt, tears, blood, sweat, and sin, but he thinks she has never looked lovelier.

She stares up at the sky; eyes wide and hands coiling into the grass below her. He leans forward to taste the salty skin over her collarbone. He hears her ask, "What is your name?"

He whispers it like a prayer into her flesh, "_Peter._"


	2. Perfect Porcelain

_Okay, here's the remaining entries for the rest of this series. Well, most of the remaining entries. I felt it was unfair to post the rest of it on AO3 and not here. Anyway, let me know what you think._

_"I need you defenseless, dependent, and alone."_

She's slipping, clawing at slick walls, desperate and her fingers coil into her palms as she struggles. She's so dirty now; hair tangled in thick mats, dress hanging in soiled rags, and his dried blood caked beneath her finger nails. Her throat burns and her bones ache and she's so exhausted.

He knows, she can see it in his eyes. The way he watches her; tongue trailing over teeth. He crawls underneath her skin. He is all claws and teeth; raw and feral. He is the sick feeling that creeps up her spine, slides over her ribs and leaks into her lungs; settling uneasy in the pit of her stomach. As much as she heaves and coughs she can't ever shake him. She willingly climbed into his web and now his fangs are sunk deep; drinking her dry.

He keeps her caged in a tiny concrete room and only comes stalking when it's dark. It's no different this time. He comes from the shadows; teeth white and shining.

"I've missed you." He says; his voice rumbling like thunder and eyes flashing like lightning. As he moves closer she can see the gashes she left across his cheek and she remembers how they wept red the night before.

"Let me go." She pleads. She refuses to cry this time, but she's slipping and there's nothing to hold on to. _Nothing but him._

"Wendy," He tsks, "How many times do we have to go through this?"

"Please, Peter." Her voice trembles, "I want to go home."

He laughs and reaches for her wrists, "This is your home!"

She stumbles back; shaking her head. Panic twists in her belly as her back hits the wall and she knows he's going to slither inside her again, ruin her even more. She's exhausted, but the fear rises in her throat and her fingers curl into fists. He moves and she lashes out; nails raking over the gouges she already made. The blood welts up fresh and thick and it makes her mouth water.

He hisses and his lips curve into a snarl; she's made him angry, "You don't want to do this, Wendy. I _hate_ it when they fight back." He grabs her by the hair and yanks; gripping her jaw with his free hand, "I chose you because you were supposed to be _different_."

She isn't slipping anymore, she's falling and she's frantic, "Take me back, Peter!" She shrieks.

"You think they'll want you now?" His laughter is manic and his grip tightens, "They won't take you back. You're not their wonderful, proper, darling Wendy anymore." The words drip from his mouth, caustic and burning.

Her fingers grasp his wrists; nails burrowing into his flesh. He shoves her up against the concrete and the tears sting as they swell up and tumble down her cheeks. His lips trace the shell of her ear, "I watched you for ages, you know. You hated it there, cried over how no one noticed you, how no one cared about you." He pulls back and sneers, "Poor, pathetic, perfect Wendy Darling. So lonely and lost."

"Stop."

"Don't you get it?" He asks, "I found you and I took you away like you asked me to, like you _begged_ me to, and this is how you thank me?"

Something snaps inside her and Wendy snarls, "You're a snake and I was a fool to believe your pretty lies!" She shoves against him, "Try and break me, Peter Pan. _I dare you._"

She watches him change; the fury sliding away as his sneer coils into a sick grin, "Well then, Wendy," Fear churns violently in her gut and she wonders when his teeth turned into knives, "_Let's play a game_."


	3. Flicker Fade

She scrubs.

It's vicious and it rubs her raw. The water is tepid now, and there is no longer the satisfying burn that comes with the scalding heat. No, the only burn now comes from her skin; bright red and aching. She drops the soap carelessly into the cooling water and dries off; slipping the fresh sleeping gown over her head. The fabric scrapes across tender flesh in a way that reminds her of his touch, and she winces at the sensation.

She's clean now, but she's still _so_ _dirty_.

The boy with the busted lip and glassy eyes told her that Peter would come for her and that she was to stay put after she finished bathing. She wants to wander off, but she's afraid of what she might find. _But what could be worse than Peter Pan?_

She licks her lips and inches toward the door. Wendy Darling is not a coward, but she's bordering on the edge of desperate. Slim fingers wrap around the handle and the door creaks as it opens.

"Are you trying to escape, Wendy?" He asks incredulously, as if he can't believe she'd try such a ridiculous thing. He's perched on the edge of the tub; lips pulled back over shining white knives.

She doesn't answer, only closes the door with a soft _thump_, "Hello, Peter. I haven't seen you in awhile."

His eyes light up, and his twisted smile widens further, "Have you missed me?"

Fear coldly trickles down her spine, but she straightens and forces herself to smile back at him, "I've just been so lonely. You never let me out."

"A bird is better in her cage, Wendy." He states solemnly as he circles her; fingers running through her damp hair. The gashes on his cheek are almost gone now, "If I let you out, you won't ever come back. Things are better this way."

She fights the panic swelling in her chest and carefully says, "Birds are free, Peter."

His fingers twist in her hair and he yanks her back against him; his arm curling around her ribs. His breath is warm as it ghosts across the shell of her ear, "But you are not free, Wendy. You are mine. Aren't you?" His lips slide down her throat before they part and his tongue makes a slick trail up to her jaw.

"Yes, Peter. Of course." Revulsion churns in her stomach and she breathes with shallow gasps that push back the swell of nausea that comes rolling over her.

He kisses her temple and whispers, "I'll see you again soon, Wendy." His fingers glide one last time through her drying curls before he slides back into the shadows and she is alone again.

The door screeches as it opens. The boy with the busted lip is back and he ties a torn piece of fabric over her eyes. He mumbles, "Watch your step" before he pushes her through the door way. He leads her back to her room before uncovering her eyes and closing the door; the locks snapping back in place.

It isn't bare concrete anymore. Peter has given her a bed. It's pretty, with a wrought iron frame and covered in thick white sheets. She traces the lace pattern of flowers on the quilt before pushing it back and crawling beneath it.

She doesn't feel sick anymore but the exhaustion settles deep in her bones. Wendy is fading; falling apart and she wants to give in. She grits her teeth to keep back the fresh swell of tears that rise up. She hates him. She wants to hurt him, make him writhe and bleed.

Peter Pan is the monster in her nightmare.

And there is no loving monsters, only slaying them.


	4. Interlude

As she sits idly in the small coffee shop; she gazes out the window, the book in front of her long forgotten. She remembers the night Bae came for her, her savior, brave knight in shining armor. She smiles wryly, because she recalls when she thought _he_ was her hero.

_It was dark when the boy with the busted lip slipped into her damp cell. His eyes were feverish and he held a look that indicated that he was not entirely sure of what he was doing. _

_He pulled her by the wrist out from under her white quilt, "C'mon, we don't have much time. They're out on a raid, but we can get out of here." _

_She tried to tug away from him and whispered, "Don't, he'll be angry. I don't like it when he's angry, he's mean." _

_"You have to come with me. You don't belong here. I can _save_ you!" He implored; yanking her toward the door._

_She narrowed her eyes, "You sound like _him_. I'm tired of boys trying to save me."_

_He huffed; it was a sound of pure indignant and frustrated rage, "Do you want to die here, Wendy Moira Angela Darling? Or do you want to live?"_

_She stared openly at him as he worried his busted lip between nervous teeth; the wound reopened and he winched as the blood trickled down his chin, "O-okay. He won't catch us?"_

_The boy grinned and it was like sunlight; she thought she might cry it was so beautiful, "Not if we hurry!" And he pulled her so hard she was tripping in effort to keep up with him._

Wendy glances back down at her forgotten book, a romance novel with a predictable storyline and cheesy characters, and frowns. She knows she wanted that once, a boy who loved her and would do anything to make her happy, but she doesn't want it anymore. The idea of it repulses her and she snaps the book closed. Her eyes skirt back to the window and she watches as sunlight filters in through the leaves of the tree across the street.

_She remembered how Bae clutched her hand as they rode across the sea; how the pirate's eyes wandered over her ragged form. He knew. _

_Knew that she was soiled, rotten. Knew that Peter Pan was the one that ruined her._

_"Peter's very fond of his possessions." Hook said, "Especially the girls."_

_"He can't get me now." It was a hushed, almost silent whisper and she gripped Bae's hand fiercely._

_Hook laughed; but it held no humor, "When he finds you, and he will, you'll wish you'd never left that miserable hell of an island, girl."_

_"If my escape is so futile, then why are you helping me?" She spat; hair tangling about her face in the wind._

_"A long time ago, Pan took something that belonged to me." He smirked as he dragged the side of his hook down her flushed cheek, the metal cool against her heated skin, "And I'm always more than happy to return the favor, dear."_

_Wendy pulled away and sneers, "If he finds me then he'll find you too."_

_"Ah, yes, but he won't kill me."_

She stands from the small table and shoves her book into her bag. She can feel her heart hammer against her ribs and she thinks she might be sick. The memories only ever came at night in the form of nightmares. She would wake; sticky with sweat and stomach roiling in revulsion. She'd wake Bae with shaky hands and beg him to hold her. Anything. Anything to make _him_ go away.

But she'd never been out in the open before, where everyone can see what terrible mess she is. She's a walking corpse; vacant except for the growing graveyard of anger and hatred that she nourishes inside the hollow of her chest.

Her hands are clammy as she grips the strap of her bag and rushes out the cafe door. It's mid-summer and there's a slight warm breeze blowing, but it does nothing to calm her nerves. She's going to be sick; can feel the bile surging up her throat and she runs to an empty alley to vomit.

Bae finds her crumpled to the ground; tears streaking down her cheeks. He pulls the hair from her face. He shushes her as he cradles her body against his. Telling her that everything's okay, she's safe, and that nothing will ever hurt her again.

They're the same things he whispers to her after the dreams, but they hold no comfort now, no sense of warmth or safety. It's been years, and _he _is still there; dragging his teeth across her neck, bruising her hips with angry hands, promising that she'll always be _his_.

Something is wrong, and Wendy sobs harder.


End file.
